Grace’s Daddy (Littleworld #24)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Shit,” I mutter as I drop every single piece of my mail on the floor. The envelopes don’t land in a simple pile either. No. That would be too easy. They scatter all over and slide in ten directions. Yes, ten.

“Fuck…” I palm my forehead as I watch one of the letters slip under the door of my neighbor across the hall. It happens seemingly in slow motion. And how is that even possible?

Now I’m going to have to knock on the door, and the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life is going to have to open it to hand me my mail.

I can’t face him. No way. I’ve never even looked him in the eye.

He’s far too handsome for me. When I see him, I turn the other direction. He makes me nervous and tongue-tied.

It’s not like he’s rude or anything. The man is very nice to me every time I’ve been near him. Well, three times. I’ve only actually been in his presence—that he knew of—three times.

I stand in the hallway, juggling my purse and my water bottle.

The strap of my purse slid down from my shoulder to my elbow, which is what caused me to end up dropping all of my mail.

Of course it would help if I would stop at my mailbox downstairs more often than I do.

The pile wouldn’t have been so huge and unmanageable.

Do I knock on his door now? Maybe later would be better. I don’t even know if he’s home. I see him sporadically. It seems like he only lives there half the time. That makes no sense. Where would he be the other half the time?

Who am I kidding? I know for a fact he’s only there two weeks and then gone two weeks.

I know this because I can hear every time he comes and goes from his apartment.

He leaves for work at eight-fifteen and returns at six.

On weekends he comes and goes with grocery bags and takeout.

And then poof. Suddenly he’s not there for two weeks.

I’m nosey. Plus, I’m usually home, so I’m aware of his hours.

Really it’s that he’s smoking hot, and I like to look at him through my peephole because who wouldn’t?

I chew on my bottom lip. How long have I been standing here? If he were out of town this week, I’d be out of luck. I wouldn’t be able to retrieve my piece of mail until he got back home. But he’s in town. He got here yesterday. But who’s keeping track?

He’s probably in there. It’s seven in the evening. But the thought of facing him and talking to him makes my skin clammy. Sheesh. I need to grow up and be an adult. Something I suck at.

I’m too introverted to make small talk with people. I never make eye contact with anyone unless I absolutely have to, and the only reason I’ve spoken to this man three times is because he instigated.

Eli. That’s his name. Eli Spellman. I know because he introduced himself to me the first time we both stepped into the hallway at the same moment. I’m pretty sure I made a complete fool out of myself that day. I mean the man is a god, so all I could do was stare at him and blink.

That was six months ago. He’s been living across the hall from me for half a year, and I’m too shy to talk to him. Not that it matters. What would he want with me anyway? I’m twenty-five. He’s probably about forty. He’s fit and sexy and so many other things.

I’ve never seen a woman arrive or leave, so I know he lives alone, but I’ve also never seen anyone come for a date or slink out in the morning.

Suddenly his door opens, and he’s standing before me.

I gasp and lower my arms, dropping both my purse and my water bottle on the floor. My face heats two hundred degrees.

Eli is smiling and holding my piece of mail. He glances at the floor and then back up at me. “Ah. I couldn’t figure out why this slid under my door. I guess you dropped it. Either that or you thought I needed a pizza coupon.” His voice is teasing. Also deep.

I want to fall through a crack in the floor. So the piece that slid under his door was junk mail… Could I be any more mortified? I hadn’t seen what specifically got away from me. It could have been a bill.

I start trembling. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“Let me help you,” he says before bending down to gather the dozen or so pieces of mail that have scattered for several feet in every direction.

I’m rooted to my spot, unable to form sentences. He must think I’m a dolt. He wouldn’t be wrong. Not when it comes to dealing with other humans. I’m not stupid. I’m intelligent. But I don’t people well.

I finally spring into action and squat down to pick up my purse. He already has all of my mail and my water bottle in his hands.

“It’s pretty good, though. If you haven’t tried it, you should.”

“Uhhh…” I finally utter that one syllable. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

He chuckles and holds out the pizza coupon. “Stephanos. Their pizza is good. Have you ever had it?”

I shake my head.

“Is that why you passed the coupon on to me, then?” he teases, his eyes dancing.

A giggle escapes my mouth, mortifying me. I can’t help it. He’s funny. But I feel even goofier now. I cover my mouth with my hand, nearly dropping my purse once again in the process.

“Whoa now,” Eli says as he reaches out to steady my purse. “How about you open your door, and I’ll help you get inside before mail goes flying yet again. I’m not sure Mrs. Thompson in 4C orders pizza delivery. She might not want the coupon either.”

How is he so funny?

My hands tremble as I reach into the outside pocket of my purse to pull out my key. Eli waits patiently while I fumble with the lock on my door twice before finally getting it open.

I’m not thinking clearly. All the blood drains from my face as the door swings wide, exposing my apartment to this man. I scan the inside quickly. Shit. I’m not very tidy, and there’s no hiding the unusual things scattered around inside.

Quickly turning around, I make a grab for the mail and my water bottle, hoping to hurry into my apartment and shut the door so fast that he doesn’t have a chance to see anything.

In my haste, I knock the water bottle on the floor in the doorway.

This time, I’m not so lucky. The lid pops off and water jumps up into the air.

Not the few ounces that a water bottle holds.

Nope. Ten gallons. Because that’s how much liquid always seems to explode out of a container when you spill it.

I squeal as we both get wet.

Half of the mail falls into the water when I leap into the air, my arms flinging out in both directions, as if water will melt me. I’m not the Wicked Witch.

My mortification amps up to a hundred million billion, and this time, I’m unable to control my reaction to my incredible clumsiness. A sob escapes, and tears fall down my cheeks.

Unable to face Eli another second, I turn and run through my living room and into my bedroom. I slam the door and continue across the room until I reach my closet, which I open before dropping onto my hands and knees and crawling into the back corner.

Hyperventilating, I pull my legs up, wrap my arms around my shins, and drop my forehead against my knees. I need the world to swallow me whole. Right now.

Silent tears fall. I want a do-over. If I could backtrack about five minutes, I might be able to avoid this catastrophe. My mind races as I try to imagine how I’m going to get out of this mess. I’ll have to move to another city. Obviously.

I should have shut the door before I bolted. Why did I leave the door open? My brain isn’t working properly. Now Eli is probably inside my apartment, making my predicament even worse.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

“Such a naughty word from such a pretty Little girl.”

I gasp and stop breathing. Did he just call me Little?

Eli’s voice rings over and over in my head. He’s right next to me. He must be squatted down inside my closet.

“Grace, sweetie, are you going to look at me?”

I shake my head. Look at him? Is he crazy? I’m never going to look at him again. I’m going to move out of this apartment as fast as possible so I never have to see him. I wonder if I can find a new apartment and hire movers to come get my stuff while I sneak out during the middle of a workday…

“Are you upset because I’ve seen your apartment, sweet girl?”

I need oxygen, but I’m afraid to breathe. It will take too much effort.

“I bet you’re worried because you don’t want anyone to know you’re Little, huh?”

How does he know what a Little is? He apparently does.

“Can I tell you something?” His hand comes to the top of my head, and he gently strokes his fingers through my hair.

“I’m a Daddy Dom, Grace. There’s no reason for you to panic.

I’m familiar with Little girls. I’m actually thrilled to find out you’re Little because I’ve been secretly wishing you could be from the moment I first met you. ”

I gasp. All the air rushes out of my lungs before I draw in another breath. Surely I’ve misheard him.

“Do you have a Daddy, sweetie?”

I shake my head.

“You live here all alone being Little with no one to nurture you?”

I nod.

“That sounds kind of lonely. Have you ever had a Daddy Dom?”

Another head shake.

“How old are you, sweet girl?”

Darn. He’s finally asking me a question that requires words to respond. I don’t want to be rude, but it’s hard to talk to him. “Twenty-five,” I whisper.

“You must think I’m way too old for you then. Darn.”

I jerk my head up before I can stop myself. “I do not.”

He’s sitting on his butt, his legs crisscrossed in front of him. He’s so close his knees are almost touching my shins. Now that I’ve lifted my head, he strokes my cheek and smiles. “Ah, so you don’t mind that an old guy like me is in your apartment?”

“You’re not old,” I argue.

“I’m forty.”

I shrug. “That’s not old.”

He blows out an exaggerated breath. “Oh, thank goodness. Do you think maybe you could come out of the closet and talk to me? We could stay in here if you want, but I thought maybe I could use that coupon you shoved under my door and order us a pizza.”

My eyes go wide. “I didn’t put it under your door on purpose.”

“You didn’t?” His eyes are twinkling. He’s teasing me. It’s helping my heart rate come down. I might live through this. “Are you sure? Maybe you dropped all your mail on purpose and then kicked the pizza coupon into my apartment as a way to get me to open my door so you could flirt with me.”

My face heats. “I did not.” A part of me knows he’s joking, but it’s hard to respond to him any other way. I shake my head. “I don’t flirt,” I mutter.

He holds out a hand. “How about if you come out here because I do flirt. I’d like to flirt with you. Would that upset you?”